Once a year

I attend the annual Southeastern Booksellers Association

Convention.

I have been

a member for 12 years and the annual convention is an

ideal place to interview authors and network with others

in the publishing industry. It is also the only time I

involve family in my business (ad)ventures.

It all

started back in 1987 when my back was bothering me. I

asked one sister if she would go with me and help with my

luggage, briefcase, etc. She did, and we enjoyed our time

together tremendously. The following year another sister

offered to join me. The first sister still wanted to

help, too. I figured "why not?" Both have been

tagging along ever since.

We always

split up and go in different directions. They seek out

authors or books I ought to help promote and tell me

about them. If I don't manage an interview at the

convention I usually follow up later.

I have not

had an opportunity yet to interview Joshua P. Warren,

author of "The Lonely Amoeba" and a book about

ghosts, but he is one of the authors Lynda discovered

this year.

She was

intrigued by "The Lonely Amoeba" and that was

the book she felt I should tell folks about. It is a

precious little children's book that helps the reader

understand how to be his or her own best friend. It is a

good book.

However...

While

learning about "The Lonely Amoeba," Lynda

discovered "Haunted Asheville." The author

handed a copy to her and asked her to check it out. She

told Mr. Warren that the three of us were going to spend

the night at the Grove Park Inn, in Asheville, on our way

home. He said, "Don't read my book until after you

leave there."

She said,

"Okay."

She lied.

We arrived

at the Grove Park and had a wonderful dinner on the

sunset terrace. The band was awesome and the sunset

equally so. We were starting to relax and were more than

ready to go to the room and to bed for a long overdue

good night's sleep when - you guessed it -

Lynda pulls out the ghost book.

We lie down

and she starts reading. After about thirty minutes I have

to tinkle. I insist that Tamra, the other sister, get out

of bed and go with me to the bathroom, just around the

wall, a good 20 feet. Lynda says "No way, she stands

so I can see her too, or we all go to the bathroom

together."

And so the

night unfolded. There was little sleep to be had. Luckily

we were in the Vanderbilt wing, which is a newer section

of the grand old resort hotel, or I can assure you we

would never have even closed our eyes.

The next

morning I took my sisters over to the old section. There

we stood just outside room 545 where they claim the

"pink lady" is most frequently sighted, felt

and heard. If the room had not been occupied, we might

have asked to see it, since it was daylight - at

least, we like to think we were that courageous.

Now, I did

not know anything about a "ghost" until Lynda

proudly presented us with the story, but I will tell you

that I already had decided - the first time I ever

went to the Inn for Sunday brunch and asked for a tour

and stood in the hall where room 545 is - that I

would never spend the night on that floor, and I wasn't

sure I ever even wanted to try to sleep in the place at

all.

But sisters

will do anything.

And so to

my memory bank I have added a humdinger of a memory. I am

sure I will go back to the Inn again whenever I have the

opportunity, for lunch or dinner maybe. But I will think

long and hard before I sleep there again, and then only

with my husband. Snuggling with my sisters holds little

or no appeal.

I did like

"The Little Amoeba" though. Small children

cannot always grasp the idea that Jesus Christ wants to

be their best friend. But it is possible to convince them

that they have within themselves the best playmate they

will ever want or need.

My

grandson, who turned 5 yesterday, is easily bored. At

least he used to tell me he was bored frequently. Every

time he would do so I would tell him to hold up his hands

and look at them. "Now, how can you be bored?"

I'd ask.

And so

would begin my dissertation about being made in the image

of God, and how if God created us, then we are creators

too, and there is no excuse for being bored when we have

a brain, hands and feet. He's getting the message.

He is

seldom still these days and not often bored. He is

discovering the potential of who he is as God's creation.

It is a

continuous adventure.